


A Process for Annealing Gold

by BarbariousBarbarian



Series: Age of Sail [5]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: 5+1 Format, Actually the whole thing is a romance, Apparently I just live in the Age of Sail now, Canon Divergence - Battle for Azeroth (Warcraft), Eventual Romance, Multi, Non-binary character, Not Canon Compliant, Not really sure how to write romance, Pre-Third War, Set in Quickyoke's "Increments of Longing" universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28913676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarbariousBarbarian/pseuds/BarbariousBarbarian
Summary: Everyone knows that Elves love gold. Fitzstephanie happens to be an accomplished goldsmith.A short-story branching out fromIncrements of Longing.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Series: Age of Sail [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1321388
Comments: 26
Kudos: 45





	A Process for Annealing Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fmorgana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fmorgana/gifts).



> Written by request ("Non-binary elf" + "that Fitz sister who wound up a goldsmith").

**Apprentice - Year 0**

Outside it was raining. Inside, the air tasted like molten gold. 

Lhoris’ ears quirked in pure pleasure, and they sighed in gratitude. The fire-red heat of the forge seared away Boralus’s chill. It sunk through layers of felt and wool, evaporating the damp which clung to both.

Glowing eyes glanced about, and water dripped to the floor. The workshop was small, but well-appointed. The dwarvish influences were clear. Glowing coals smouldered in the circular forge, and anvils squatted on the stone floor. Neat racks of short tools hung against the wall - and a single frame of longer ones. 

Half-hidden in the dimness, a human woman was rhythmically pumping at a set of bellows. Fire gleamed reflectively in the glass of her goggles. Periodically a spark would leap out to lick her leather apron. 

Lhoris was enjoying being warm very much - but was also at a bit of a loss as to what came next. As a compromise they hovered awkwardly on the shop floor, throwing looks at their master, wondering where the gold was.

The master merchant was no help; when she had swept past the inner door, it was to the delighted cries of a craggly dwarf. The only instruction to Lhoris had been to hang up the raincoats, which had duly been done. But now master metalsmith and master merchant stood side by side along one long wall, talking animatedly. The merchant’s long ears were fluttering and the smith’s eyes were sparkling behind his bushy beard. 

A few more tentative steps brought even more Sun-blessed heat. Lhoris couldn’t help themselves; their ears wriggled in delight again.

This motion seemed to catch the human’s attention. She leaned back, away from the bellows, pushing the goggles up to her forehead. Heat had reddened her skin and soot smeared her cheek. Red hair, damp with sweat, was pushed back with the same uncaring hand, and powerful muscles flexed - Lhoris noted a scattering of burn scars across her forearms.

The human looked at Lhoris steadily, carefully. She tilted her head.

“Hello,” said Lhoris brightly in Humanic. “I hope I didn’t interrupt you. What are you making?”

The human seemed to hesitate. Her face was a brief conflict of uncertainty, curiosity, and surprise - but finally she pointed over at a workbench against one wall. On it lay a pair of pliers, and a large drawplate.

“Wire?” smiled Lhoris, ears canting. “How splendid. One can never go far wrong with something so useful.”

The human blinked. Then she smiled back, slow and shy. One hand absently brushed down the front of the leather apron, leaving a grimey smear. 

“Oh!” Lhoris automatically started forward. “Do let me offer, I have here somewhere... ” They started patting down their pockets, ears waving.

The human glanced down, spotting the black streak on her apron, and her smile quirked ruefully. 

“Aha!” Lhoris said, finding a handkerchief. They held it out, ears tilted questioningly.

One coal-blackened hand reached, and gently took it. Beside the human, the coals from the forge glowed rich, deep, and red - the light played across her face, flickering and dancing.

“Made a friend already, Stephanie?” boomed a voice behind Lhoris - both they and the human jerked around. 

The dwarf, beaming, stepped between them, clapping them both on the back. “A fine choice, young Elfling, you won’t regret the acquaintance,” he said heartily. “Our Stephie is a genius with most metals, but it’s gold that truly loves her - you’ll see.”

“How wonderful,” Lhoris’ master said, ears proud. “Apprentice Lhoris has a gift for placing gold jewelry. Any goldsmith would find them a contact worth having.”

The two masters looked at their underlings with general approval. 

Lhoris plastered on a modest look, but her ears quivered. They glanced at the human - Stephanie? - and brown eyes caught glowing blue. Between themselves, they shared a moment of pure, mutual embarrassment. 

“Excellent, very good.” The dwarf clapped them both on the shoulders again, and Lhoris and Stephanie both staggered slightly. “It’s settled then. Our apprentices will be the best of friends.” He gave them both a firm nod. 

Then he stepped back, seeming to forget about them completely. “But you are here about the new season’s pieces, yes? The coals have been especially generous to us lately. I have many things to show you. Would you like to see the gallery?”

The merchant’s eyes glowed even more than normal. “I would be delighted.” 

The two turned, and walked towards the front of the shop. 

Lhoris watched them go, then turned back to Stephie, shrugging helplessly. “I guess we’re best friends, then.”

The human shrugged back, face dissolving into silent laughter. Then she tilted her head again, still grinning, considering Lhoris thoughtfully. The handkerchief had disappeared somewhere.

“Now that’s decided,” said Lhoris, grinning, ears still slanted forward. “I interrupted you from your work - not very friendly of me. Would you like any help?” Their eyes landed on the pump, and they stepped forward triumphantly. “I can’t make wire, but I procure a fine cup of water.” They picked up a mug, and waggled it invitingly.

Stephanie grinned, and nodded gratefully. 

Lhoris turned and experimentally cranked the pump’s handle. Nothing happened. 

Glowing eyes blinked in puzzlement. They cranked it again, forcefully. 

Suddenly water was everywhere, and only nimble feet and laughing Elvish cursing saved the hem of Lhoris’ robes. When they finally looked up, brandishing a mug of distressingly cold water, the human had vanished into the darkness of the shop. 

Lhoris quirked their ears, still smiling. Muffled tinkling was coming from the dimness, musical and clinking - a siren song to any Elf. They set their own mug next to the firepit to warm up, put Stephanie’s down on a cold anvil, then allowed themselves to be drawn forwards across the workshop.

Stephanie was tucked behind some timbers, browsing an open chest; this was bound in heavy iron strappings, and secured to the floor with massive bolts. Inside this chest was more unworked gold than Lhoris had ever seen - stacks of bars and wafers of gold, bricks and blocks and blanks, all shining like the Sun under the warm light of the lamps. 

Lhoris gulped nervously, and backed away.

The clinking carried on for a few more minutes, then came the _thump_ of a heavy lid falling closed. Stephanie walked back towards the workshop proper with an odd expression, and something golden in one hand. With the other she moved her cup from the anvil, and looked at Lhoris expectantly.

“Naturally,” said Lhoris, nodding and flipping their ears. “It would be difficult to work without tools.” They wandered over to the human-sized rack, and gestured broadly. “Can I interest you in one of your own tongs?” 

Stephanie nodded, laughing quietly. 

Lhoris’ ears twitched in pure satisfaction. “Of course I can.” They tucked the tongs jauntily under their arm, and moved down the line, ears sweeping back rakishly. “A chisel as well, perhaps? Or a hamm- yes? A hammer?” 

Stephanie nodded again, eyes bright.

“Superb choice.” Lhoris plucked the second implement from the rack and walked over, presenting them both with a flourish. 

Stephanie bowed dramatically back, before taking them; in one hand she worked the tongs, and with the other she hefted the hammer. A short gesture sent Lhoris back to a safe distance. Then the gold bar was taken firmly and set in place. Without further ado, she began to work it. Heat and strikes and light - each were used in turn. 

Lhoris was entranced. Heavy muscles rippled. The gold began to flatten, and elongate. Stephie’s arms came down in long, smooth strokes, and her hands gripped the hammer firmly, eschewing gloves. 

Lhoris couldn’t entirely see what kind of jewelry it was going to be, but they could see the talent going into it. Whatever else, the work would be beautiful. 

“All done with the wire then?” came that booming voice again, and Stephaine flinched, pulling a blow in midair. Loris turned - behind them were their masters. Both looked satisfied, and slightly amused - the master merchant was tucking a small notebook into a pocket of her robes. 

Stephanie put the hammer down quietly, and looked guilty.

“Not to worry,” said the dwarf, hooking his hands into his own leather apron, looking positively genial. “Work all the gold you wish. We have space now our Quel’Thalan guests are taking most of the shop home.”

“A privilege and a pleasure,” said their own master, casting a significant glance at her apprentice. “We will see you again in spring. Are you all done, Lhoris? Come along, now.” She strode over to the raincoats and Lhoris hurried after. 

“Goodbye, Stephanie,” they called, pausing for an instant in the doorway. “It was a pleasure to talk with you.”

Stephanie lifted her arm, waving farewell. In her hand, almost forgotten, was the cylindrical piece of gold. Lhoris waved back, then ducked through the door. 

As they huddled down against the cold Boralus rain, they wondered when they would feel that much Sunshine again.

* * *

**Journeyman - Williams, Year 3**

Blessed heat washed over Lhoris as they strode into the workshop. 

It was loud today; their ears twitched against the ringing of hammers and the chatter of excited apprentices. One boy was doing a particularly complicated piece of ironmongery. Another was sheeting massive plates of copper, presumably for some ocean-related reason. Another young girl ran about fetching tools, and refilling buckets.

Lhoris’ feet practically danced them across the floor - their ears wriggled in delight and anticipation. 

“Hello,” they sang gaily to the grimey group of children. “Is Stephanie around?”

“She’s in the shop, honourable Merchant,” said the girl, openly staring at Lhoris’ ears. “Helping a fancy client.”

“Thank you,” said Lhoris, jauntily. “I’ll go see her there then.” They turned and walked over to the correct door, sweeping off their coat. They threw this casually over one shoulder, before sauntering inside. 

The first thing Lhoris noticed was Stephanie’s back - clean today, in a plain white shirt. Fabric strained over sculpted shoulders, but her posture was tense. Next to Stephanie was presumably the source of this discomfort; a Kul Tiran noble. He was older, his face long and mustache drooping. Completing the picture was a teenaged Kul Tiran tucked away in a corner; he was silent except for the misery written in bold strokes across his entire face

Stephie and the noble were ignoring him, standing hunched over something. The customer was expounding sharply upon some point. Stephie was listening carefully.

“My apologies for the intrusion,” said Lhoris, striding forward, pulling off their gloves. “I beg your leave to interrupt?”

The noble glanced up, irritation melting into confusion. Lhoris suppressed their grin; a full Elf speaking perfect Humanic tended to have that effect in Boralus. Stephanie had also turned - then straightened, smile full and genuine. Her fingers had curled in the merest suggestion of a wave.

Lhoris suppressed the urge to skip over to their very best friend. Instead they swallowed it down, shooting her a sly wink instead. Then they carefully placed their coat and gloves down on a nearby table. “Perhaps there is some small service I can render?” they said casually. “A fresh pair of eyes, perhaps?” 

Stephanie sighed, gesturing helplessly. She stepped away. In the space she left, Lhoris could see a small velvet cushion, and on it two ornate wrist-clasps made of gold.

Lhoris’ breath caught. They walked forward slowly, entranced; the artistry of the two pieces was simply exquisite. 

“They’re adequate of course,” the nobleman was saying, gesturing dismissively. “But my son wants to see something else. The Lord Admiral’s wedding anniversary demands the best.” 

“You have clearly come to the right shop,” said Lhoris, still amazed. With an effort, they tore their eyes away from the clasps and back towards the noble. “The craftsmanship here is famous even in Silvermoon.”

“Perhaps so.” The noble’s moustache twitched, unimpressed. He turned back to the golden clasps, gesturing again. “But this is a journeyman’s work - not good enough. Only the master’s work will suffice.”

Lhoris’ ears stayed still and their face remained patient and attentive. Mentally, however, they decided another zero would be added to the final price. “You are here for your son, you say?” They turned their gaze onto the unfortunate soul huddling in the corner. “For you, perhaps, young sir?”

The teenager nodded weakly, and Lhoris tilted their head; their ears flickered, just a small twitch. The son had little whirls and gnarls on his clothing which suggested his personality, albeit buried deep under someone else’s taste. Based on those little hints, he was certainly the right owner for the clasps. 

Almost idly, Lhoris stepped back, running into Stephanie, and bumping off her solid frame. They stepped away immediately, an apology tumbling from their lips. As one hand reached up to steady themselves against a muscled arm, fingers curled around a bicep. They drummed gently - then drew away, putting respectable distance between them. 

_Hello. I’m so glad to see you. Trust me._

Stephanie threw them an indecipherable look - then relaxed.

Lhoris turned back to the noble, letting their expression melt into a thoughtful frown. “Master Gurrel is a superb craftsman,” they said. “There is no doubt about that. And his work in silver is extraordinary, beyond all his peers. But there really is something about gold.” They stepped back towards the cushion, letting their eyes fall back on the wrist-clasps. “Gold,” they breathed, almost involuntarily. 

There was silence in the shop. 

Lhoris reached out a hand, almost touching the cushion - stopped just above it. “If the Sun were made metal,” they said. “How could it not be gold?”

There was another pause, another silence. Then Lhoris straightened, and turned to Stephanie, face hard. “I will pay thirty-five gold pieces for them both.”

Stephanie blinked. Her jaw dropped slightly, and her hands spasmed.

Lhoris drummed their fingers against their own leg. _Trust me._

The noble spluttered. “Well I… I…” he trailed off. His long face blinked up at them. The teenager in the corner made a small, squeaky sound.

“After all, you don’t want it,” said Lhoris, firmly, ears raking forward. “And I do. The pair of them will fetch triple in Silvermoon. More, should the Prince decide to snap them up.”

“This is outrageous,” the noble stammered. The boy uncurled from the corner, looking between all parties in consternation.

Stephanie threw Lhoris another wide-eyed look, but then cleared her throat, ducking down behind a counter to pull up a fine wooden box.

“Maybe I will gift them to the Prince,” mused Lhoris to themselves, turning back to the clasps. “When the court sees these on his wrists, I will never want for customers again.”

“Forty,” said the boy. He blinked into the silence his words had caused, looking almost surprised to be speaking - then his face hardened, and he straightened. “Forty gold pieces for them both.”

Lhoris locked gazes with him. The young man met their stare, defiant and strong, and Lhoris had to consciously suppress any movement of their ears. They had a tendency to slink back when something was especially satisfying. 

The older noble’s drooping face worked through a dozen emotions in succession, and he rocked back and forth on his heels. “Son, they don’t really...” 

“Fifty gold pieces,” said Lhoris, tilting their ears decisively. “Half now, and half on delivery. My guards can meet the shipment on Sunsail’s wharves.”

“One hundred gold,” said the young man. He walked forward, looking at the clasps. “With payment now, and taken immediately.” He turned respectfully to Stephanie, framed against the far wall. “If you please, Miss Williams. They would be best wrapped in lambswool, if you have it. The carvings are so intricate.”

Stephanie’s eyes flicked between the tableau, almost uncertain. Then she nodded slowly. A hand reached down under the counter again, pulling out a jar of soft, white wool.

Lhoris looked at the older nobleman, who was still spluttering. They lifted their ears in defeat, giving him a rueful glance. “Well,” they said, sighing. “Your son has won for himself a Prince’s bargain. Congratulations, Sir.” 

The noble stared at them, faltering. “Yes, well…” he said, tone uncertain. “Silver corrodes so quickly in the ocean air, of course. It just makes sense to purchase gold.”

Lhoris nodded thoughtfully, letting their ears bob along in agreement - it actually was a good point. “Wise reasoning, Sir.”

The young man had remained in front of his purchase, almost protectively, and Stephanie had pulled the leather sales book over to him. Customer and smith hunched over it, pen scratching quitely, then Stephanie drew back, carefully placing the box into his arms.

“Thank you for your time, Miss Williams,” said the young man, cradling his purchase. “I hope to see you again.”

Stephanie bowed, formally. The duo left without another word, the elder still looking bewildered. The door locked with a heavy click as it swung shut.

“Stephie!” cried Lhoris, whirling and rushing across the showroom, their ears shooting upwards. Stephaine rushed around the counter as well, offering her hands to shake. They met in the middle of the floor - Lhoris grabbed Stephie’s hand and shook it a few times for politeness. Then they playfully swung their hands around to intertwine their fingers. 

“Was that your work?” they carolled. “It was exquisite - beautiful! How are you not warding off Elvish merchants with a stick?”

Stephie looked bashful. She linked their fingers more firmly. 

Lhoris laughed again. “So, you _are_ fending them off. I see how it is,” They fluttered their ears, pressing their free hand to their heart. “How will I ever compete? Does four years of friendship count for nothing?” 

Stephie smirked, then shook her head deliberately. Lhoris swooned dramatically. When they staggered theatrically upright, Stephie was still rolling her eyes - with a patient sigh, Stephie pointed their joined hands at the shop copy of the receipt, still lying neatly on the counter. 

Lhoris grinned, ears jaunty, buffing the nails of their free hand against their jacket. “Well, that is true. I am pretty great at selling things.” Their ears stabbed up, and they clicked their fingers. “Speaking of sales, I got a new ledger notebook for you.” Lhoris nudged Stephie’s arm. “Don’t let me forget.” 

Stephie smiled at them, something small and secret. Then she tucked Lhoris’ captured hand firmly under her arm. Unhurriedly, she began leading them both back towards the workshop. Lhoris let themselves enjoy the closeness, ears twirling in delight at the promise of fire and heat. 

“What kind of engraving was that, by the way?” they said, eyes bright. “You weren’t doing it six months ago. Do you have a commission, or a piece in mind that called for that kind of work?”

Stephie halted abruptly. Lhoris stopped as well, blinking in confusion, and quirked their ears at her in curiosity. Stephie didn’t explain. Instead she stared into space, an unreadable look on her face. Finally she smiled and shook her head, dropping their hand - in exchange she opened the door, holding it gallantly. 

Lhoris accepted this. Stephie could be private. Instead they bowed - not entirely successfully, as their ears were long and took some maneuvering around countertops and walls - then straightened and swept into the workshop. The heat of the forge wrapped around them instantly, caressing them, thawing every lingering ache. 

All this briefly left Stephanie out of sight; when long ears once again attuned to find her, it was to the rustle of one of the leather aprons hanging by the door coming off its hook. Stephie stepped forward, pulling it on; when her head appeared again, her expression was conspiratorial. A key was produced from a pocket, and Lhoris watched with interest as she wandered towards a large safe. 

The work of a moment unlocked it - a long, cloth-wrapped cylinder was pulled out from inside. Under the square of white fabric, which was carefully removed and tucked into a pocket, lay a half-loop. This was made of delicate strands of braided gold. 

Lhoris felt their breath catch.

Stephie hefted the loop consideringly - then nodded, and made for an anvil. With deliberate, clever motions, she took a pair of needle-thin pliers and began smoothly twisting the gold even further around itself. Hands periodically played across the face of the briad, stroking it for any imperfections, and finding none.

Lhoris looked about for a seat, ears wriggling in delight, telling themselves there would be time enough for business later. For now, they would watch Stephie as she worked light and heat into gold, capturing just that little bit more of the Sun each time. 

For now, they would let themselves be the luckiest elf in the world.

* * *

**Journeyman - Fitzwilliams - Year 6**

The Elvish merchant ship had docked in the early morning, and Lhoris had disembarked immediately. They were needed on shore, badly. 

Their employer was a highborn Quel’Thalan merchant, who rarely came to Boralus. His limited Humanic was enough for ballrooms with dancing and wine, but not for complex bureaucracy. This was unfortunate, as the cargo he was carrying consisted mostly of alcohol and perfumes - the customs officer had practically salivated on seeing the manifest. 

By the time Lhoris had begged, pleaded, and negotiated - then coughed up a substantial sum in duties - the sun had well and truly risen. Their ears drooped in relief to be walking away from the customhouse, and the merchant was positively genial.

“ _And now we are free to trade,”_ he said, walking next to them. He seemed to be rifling through the paperwork, but his ears were slanted oddly. _“You have contacts in the Tradewinds market?”_ Glowing eyes locked onto their face, but his tone was casual.

 _“Yes, honourable merchant,”_ said Lhoris. _“Mainly in metalwork.”_

The merchant nodded. _“Of course.”_ His eyes gleamed. _“I seem to recall someone telling me that. Well, shall we go see them? We will have space for cargo on the return voyage.”_ Almost involuntarily, his ears twitched. 

_“Certainly, Sir,”_ Lhoris said, slowly; their own ears flickered in puzzlement. _“Or if you would prefer, I can go by myself? It wouldn’t be...”_

 _“No,”_ the merchant said, sharply. _“We will both go. Request one of these humans fetch us a carriage.”_ His ears twitched again.

 _“Certainly, Sir,”_ Lhoris said again, frowning. Then they mentally shrugged and flagged down a passerby. 

The sailor was kind enough to direct them to a cabman’s shelter; soon Lhoris was helping the merchant up into a smart hackney. It was a lovely day, and a short trip - they themselves jumped up to sit beside the driver outside.The journey was spent in easy silence, surrounded by the bustle of people, and the clatter and echo of hooves against damp cobblestones. 

It wasn’t long before the familiar workshop drew in sight. Lhoris’ ears wriggled with open delight. 

A few coins pulled from their pocket tumbled into the cabbie’s eager hands, and then Lhoris was jumping to the street to assist the merchant. He climbed down from the cab carefully. Before them was a massive door of iron and oak, tightly closed, without a handle. Only a large brass bell lay to one side. 

_“Are you sure this is it?”_ he said, frowning at the door. 

_“Indeed, Sir.”_ Lhoris paused to smooth down their Kul Tiran-style coat. _“The sign of Gurrel, Master Smith.”_

The merchant nodded regally, still frowning, but Lhoris swallowed down their beating heart. They rang the bell.

There was a pause of endless seconds, then the massive door swung open.

Stephie stood there, hands wrapped around the door. Red hair escaped the Kul Tiran braid, and she was sweating lightly; everything smelled like hot metal and burning coal. 

Something bright and hot flared up in Lhoris’ chest, warming them from their toes to the tips of their ears. They straightened. Stephie also straightened, eyes crinkling, and lips curving into a smile. Lhoris smiled back, helplessly.

“Stephie,” said Lhoris, awestruck. They swallowed, firming their voice. “How lovely to see you - you’re looking quite...” 

“Stephie?” interrupted the merchant, frowning. Then glowing eyes widened - a satisfied smile flashed across his face. “ _Aha. Fitzstephanie_.”

Stephie jerked. Lhoris turned to look at him, uncomprehendingly, but he ignored them. The expression he wore still looked unsettlingly smug. When Lhoris turned back, Stephie had slumped over slightly, shoulders tense. One hand was now held stiffly behind her back. With a polite bow and a neutral expression, she cleared the door and motioned them both into the shop. 

Lhoris’ ears tilted in confusion. They awkwardly followed the merchant as he swept inside. They dipped their head to catch the bowing Stephie’s eye - then threw her a puzzled look. Stephie’s face didn’t change; brown eyes contemplated them warily. 

“It is good shop,” said the merchant in passable Humanic. He swept inside, ears tilted casually. “Fine quality.” He made a show of looking at a pair of silver cufflinks. 

Lhoris moved to trail along behind him, completely lost. A quick glance over the cufflinks had their ears practically shaking with the force of their bewilderment. Stephie’s work in silver was sturdy enough - but nothing like the craftsmanship she produced with gold. 

Lhoris had that sinking feeling of not knowing what was going on.

They turned around for Stephie. Stephie was staring at Lhoris, face blank. She was still but for hands, which were drumming against her side. Lhoris’ ears slipped forward, and their face hardened. They locked eyes with Stephie and made a short stabbing gesture at the merchant’s back, then at their own chest - this was topped off with a scooping, throwing motion towards the door. Their eyebrows and ears rose in question.

Stephie looked at them a moment, and her mouth fell open slightly. Something in her posture seemed to relax. A ghost of a smile touched her lips - a hint of warmth flared back in her eyes. Her head shook, just a little.

“I sell quality in Quel'Thalas,” said the merchant, missing the byplay completely. He had finally noticed the display of gold, and had drifted over to stand in front of it, transfixed. “Many things.” His ears trembled, just slightly. “These things, very easy.”

 _“What is going on here, Sir?”_ said Lhoris. An edge leaked into their tone. _“I do not understand.”_

 _“Isn’t it obvious?”_ said the merchant. He turned, ears tilted chidingly. _“I wish to sign an employment contract with this young smith. An exclusive one.”_

 _“An employment…”_ Lhoris felt their ears flatten. _“Stephie is two years yet from gaining mastery.”_

 _“Yes?”_ He waved languidly. _“The work is adequate, that’s all it needs to be.”_ Ears fluttered in pure satisfaction as he looked at the gold display again. _“Besides, without mastery she cannot set up on her own. Imagine - a real Fitzwilliams, working in my shop.”_

Lhoris gritted their teeth, and snuck a sideways glance. Stephie’s face was hard. Lhoris watched muscles flex across her arms, and the cuffs of her undershirt strain; she had stopped following them, and was instead standing straight and proud, eyes blazing. Her hands worked. 

_“I think we should go,”_ said Lhoris, heart thumping. 

The merchant turned, looking at her. _“Why?”_

Lhoris stared into those blazing brown eyes. Their ears lifted unstoppably. _“Stephie knows Thelessian.”_ Then they smiled. 

The merchant’s ears swivelled, slowly twisting upwards. His face blanched. His mouth worked.

 _“Let me call you a cab,”_ said Lhoris, almost cheerily. _“Perhaps next time we will call ahead?”_ They walked to the door and yanked it open. A sharp whistle pierced the noise of the city, and a carriage clattered to a halt outside.

“Be careful with this passenger,” Lhoris said cheerfully to the driver, stepping outside to dump coins in his hand. “He is very important.” 

Stephie had walked the merchant out, and now stood blocking the way back inside. She looked slightly impatient. The merchant was ignoring this; he had recovered his wits, and resumed his sales-pitch, extolling the reputation of his firm and the attractive commission rates. Pedestrians swerved around him.

Lhoris interrupted, walking up and placing a careful hand on his shoulder; the frown this gathered was countered with a smooth smile. _“Sir, your carriage is waiting - and unfortunately in Boralus they charge for this time.”_

 _“Of course,”_ said the merchant. He fixed Lhoris with a meaningful look. _“I will see you back at the ship, after you have secured the cargo. Don’t forget to tell your young friend here how fun it is working for me.”_

Lhoris inclined their head. 

On the back of their sleeve, they felt a faint, almost whisper-light tug. Ears sagged with relief. They weren’t sure Stephie would want them to stay, after whatever this fiasco was. 

The merchant nodded one last time before climbing gracefully into the cab. Lhoris didn’t turn - the tug on the back of their sleeve was insistent now, and they gave way, stepping backwards into the shop again. The door swung shut. There was the click of the lock.

“ _Who in the name of the Sun_?” said Lhoris flatly, staring at the heavy wood of the door. “What in flickering embers is a Fitzwilliams?”

They turned and Stephie was staring at them, face completely unreadable. Slowly, she lifted an arm, and pointed deliberately at herself.

“I got that part, thanks,” Lhoris huffed, ears slanting forward. Their mouth twitched up. “Anything more to add?” 

Stephie smiled, looking thoughtful. Then she shrugged and shook her head - the arm that had been pointing reached out.

“Fair enough,” said Lhoris, taking it. “I’ll just have to guess.” They looked into Stephie’s eyes, and breathed in the smell of iron and gold. It was everything they loved, warm and bright. 

Stephie threw them an intrigued look, gently tugging them towards the workshop. Her eyebrows raised. 

“Your family must be scandalous,” said Lhoris confidently, ears slanted forward with laughter. “Just a bunch of disreputable pirates, with a taste for… libel.”

Stephie laughed, and hooked Lhoris more firmly on her arm. She stared down at them, eyes twinkling, then deliberately nodded. 

Long ears rose, and Lhoris huffed, giving solid muscle a gentle shove. “Well. I bought you a new pen in Lordaeron, anyway. You can join in.”

Stephie shot her an indecipherable look, then smiled again. There was silence as she reached out to open the workshop’s door.

“I don’t care, you know,” Lhoris said, abruptly. “Your family could run away and slander all the fish it likes. It wouldn’t change anything. In fact -” Lhoris turned to face Stephie, looking serious. “- I could tell you the dark secret of my family, if you promise to never tell?”

The laughter melted out of Stephie’s face, and she looked down, frown slightly apprehensive. 

Lhoris leaned forward, conspiratorially. “They’re really boring.”

Stephie blinked at them in shock - then she was doubled over, huffing with laughter. Lhoris grinned down. The joke hadn’t been that funny, but clearly Stephie’s family was a sore point. 

Lhoris patted her on the back, and went to put the kettle on. Quietly, they tucked the day’s questions away at the back of their own mind. Apparently, being a “Fitzwilliams'' might get Stephie into trouble one day - it was worth going home to make some quiet inquiries. 

* * *

**Master - Year 9**

Lhoris tucked themselves down into their woolen coat, and trudged past a closed corner shop. A drop of water dripped from their ears. 

Back in Silvermoon the rains would have started, and the heat broken. The turning trees would be a riot of red, brown, and gold. Here on this dank Boralus street, in this frozen country, the few trees clung to their leaves and deepened an even darker green.

Their heart stuttered with anticipation. A letter was held up to a guttering streetlamp, and the crisp copperplate of the address was compared to the street sign. 

“ _Are we in the right place, Merchant Lhoris?”_ said their apprentice, damply. Her ears drooped.

Lhoris nodded - their own ears felt frozen in place. _“Praise the Sun, yes.”_ They both turned and walked up the sidestreet.

Not far up the road lay a modest workshop. The shop sign was new - wood still brown with oil, and the letters crisp. It read “Fitzwilliams - Goldsmith.” From inside came the dull roar of the forge and the sweet smell of hot metals. 

Lhoris’ ears rose, and their eyes brightened - they turned to their apprentice, digging into their pocket for a few silver coins. _“This will be boring,”_ they said. _“The night is young, and so are you. Find yourself some food, and heat.”_ As the coins were handed over, Lhoris quirked their ears significantly, and caught the youngster’s gaze. _“But not too much heat. Do you understand?”_

 _“Yes, thank you, Merchant Lhoris!”_ said the apprentice. The coins vanished, followed shortly by the apprentice herself. The door swung shut on a nearby tavern. 

Lhoris watched until they were satisfied that the apprentice hadn’t walked in on a bar brawl. Then they smoothed down their coat, settled their ears, turned, and knocked smartly on the workshop door.

It swung open. Behind it was Stephie, smiling warmly. Heat, golden and strong, seemed to pour back into Lhoris’ body. Their ears lifted in greeting , and they bowed formally, grinning in open delight. 

“Hello, Master Fitzwilliams!”

Stephie rolled her eyes, and bowed mockingly back - then she reached out and gently grabbed Lhoris’ hand, clearing the doorway and pulling them inside. Lhoris needed no encouragement; the ice was nipping at their heels. It was all they could do not to sigh with gratitude as the door swung shut. 

The blessed, blazing heat of the shop lanced through their entire body. Scarf and hat came off, then their coat. Long ears shivered in pleasure. Stephie let go of their hands only long enough for Lhoris to pull off their gloves before taking their frozen hands again. She chaffed them gently, looking sympathetic. Then she tugged lightly again, drawing Lhoris deeper inside.

“Boralus in winter,” said Lhoris ruefully, following without protest. “It seems colder every year. You are lucky I ever leave the heat of your workshop.” 

Stephie’s face clouded unreadably, then cleared; her free hand smoothed down her clean, white shirt. Then she turned, and opened her arm, just slightly.

Lhoris took that invitation also. They stepped into her embrace, wrapping themselves around a broad-barrel chest. Heavily muscled arms enveloped them in turn, and Lhoris suppressed a small sigh; all around them was the smell of gold, fire, and heat. The thud of Stephie’s heart beat steadily under their ear. 

Lhoris let themselves enjoy it for as long as they dared before pulling away. Stephie let them go. They looked at one another for a moment. 

Then Stephie smiled ruefully, and gestured Lhoris to keep coming inside - a snug nook seemed to be the destination. Tucked away inside was a small table, charmingly lit by candles, with a small meal set up. It was cozy and intimate. Lhoris’ chest burned with feeling, which they swallowed back. Luckily, Stephie was half-hidden in the dimness of the shop behind them.

“I brought your sales receipts,” they said instead, clearing their throat. “You were right about the little hairpins. They sold out inside a day.” Suddenly this all seemed extremely important - Lhoris sat on one of the chairs, digging through their satchel restlessly. 

Stephie dropped into the other chair - this creaked alarmingly. She tilted her head.

Lhoris pulled a sheaf of documents free, smiling in satisfaction. “This little bookmark marks revenue - please keep it, I got it for you in Quel’Thalas.” The papers were pushed across the table, and Lhoris used the opportunity to snaffle a half-slice of apple.

A battered notebook was produced from Stephie’s pocket, along with a pair of reading spectacles. The documents were pulled closer - papers were flipped, stopping on the bookmarked page. Brown eyes focused. Slightly crumpled paper was smoothed flat under calloused hands. She reached out with the other to snag the other half of the apple; an arm rose to brush away a drip of juice. 

Lhoris tore their eyes away from this, and poured a cup of tea. This was placed carefully at Stephie’s elbow, before they poured another for themselves. Then they leaned back on the chair. 

The light from the forge glowed dully, steady and even. The light sank into Stephie’s red hair, playing across her face. Lhoris slowly sipped their tea. Stephie continued reading her accounts and snacking on the cheese. At some point the tea was finished. Cups were placed aside. The candles burned on.

“I had better go,” Lhoris finally sighed. “It’s getting late.” They could feel themselves fading from the long darkness, their ears half-drooped, and their posture slumped against the back of the chair. 

Stephie looked up from her papers, almost startled - she glanced at the candles. In an instant she was on her feet, shoving papers and the remains of the meal aside.

Lhoris leapt up as well, ears and hands soothing. “It’s alright,” they said. “I had a lovely evening - more than lovely. It’s just an elf thing.” They covered up a yawn - long ears drooped slightly again. 

Stephie gave those ears a long look. Then she nudged Lhoris firmly back onto the chair. Brown eyes caught blue - they crinkled into a smile, and a careful finger tapped Lhoris on the nose. Then Stephie was striding from the nook. 

Lhoris’ head quirked in confusion, but they found it difficult to force themselves back onto their feet. Stephie’s company was warm, the chair wasn’t too uncomfortable, and the night was dark. It was an effort to keep their eyes from drifting shut. 

When they jerked awake again, it was because something metallic had clattered on the floor. Stephie had returned - she scooped the hook up, her face a wincing apology. She quickly turned back to what she was working on. A rolled-up tangle of ropes and cloth had been shaken out, and now Stephie was tying something to an exposed beam. Beside her was a pile of soft bedding, heaped up.

“Is that… a hammock?” said Lhoris fuzzily. Their ears canted.

Stephie threw the bedding up and into the hammock - then added another few blankets on for good measure. Only then did she turn. One massive hand reached out.

Lhoris reached up and took it. With a small tug they were up and in Stephie’s arms again. Another faint flex of muscles, and suddenly they were suspended in the air, rocking a little. Lhoris floundered a little, until they realised it was warm, and dry - and next to a hot forge. The cocooning fabric held them snugly. Lhoris relaxed with a sigh.

“What will you do?” they mumbled, tucking their ears inside the hammock.

Stephie sat back down at the table, pulling a half-loop of gold out towards her. A small white square of cloth was folded away, and the reading glasses put back on. Then a delicate chisel produced. Stephie looked at Lhoris evenly.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Lhoris whispered, already half-asleep. It was the work of an instant to fall the rest of the way. 

When they woke up, the Sun was shining through a window, and Stephie was long gone.

* * *

**Grandmaster - Year 12**

The Guild Ball happened only once a decade, and craftsmen packed Boralus. 

Thick night had fallen over the throng. Now the guildhall was awash with lights, and carriages continously clattered up to disgorge their cargo. Glittering dignitaries from all twelve guilds swept up the stairs into the main ballroom; the hum of laughter, music, and conversation rose steadily. Inside, the hungry congregated at tables, and groups swirled, then broke and reformed. Only the dancing was missing, as the guest of honour had not arrived.

Lhoris stood patiently, listening to a human man talk about broadcloth prices. Their ears cocked attentively. At various moments they even nodded in agreement - but periodically glowing eyes flashed up and around the crowd. When their eyes flicked back to the weaver, it was in well-concealed disappointment. The crowd held only a few Elvish business rivals, some friends, and a swirling crush of strangers. 

The weaver had just launched into his market forecast when brassy trumpets drowned him out. Lhoris winced, and long ears all over the crowd pressed down - as one, the great crowd turned to the entryway stairs. 

“The Guildmaster of Kul Tiras!” called the Herald. “Prime Warden of the Goldsmiths, Fitzstephanie Fitzwilliams!”

In unison, hats swept from every head - although the assembled merchants didn’t bow, dead silence reigned in the guildhall.

Stephie stood at the top of the stairs; she nodded something to the herald at her side, then raised her own tricorn in acknowledgement of the crowd. As she held it there, her gaze seemed to rake over the crowd. Every set of long ears got a second look, before brown eyes landed on Lhoris. Her mouth twitched - a small, secret smile, just for them. 

The band struck up a jaunty chaconne tune, and Stephie’s hat dropped back onto her head. There was a rustle as the crowd followed - then Stephanie stepped down into the crowd, and vanished.

Lhoris smiled helplessly, and turned to the weaver. “My deepest apologies, but I have just seen an old friend. Will you forgive me?”

They swapped business cards, then Lhoris ducked away towards the stairs. The crush was fierce; Stephie was nowhere to be seen. They negotiated the press slowly, eyes peering everywhere - the noise was terrific. They slipped around another few people. 

A hand landed on their arm, and Lhoris turned. 

Stephie smiled at them, resplendent in her formal guild uniform. She was ignoring the merchants angling for her attention. Her smile really was only for them - all heat, light, and the smell of liquid gold.

“Guildmaster,” breathed Lhoris, ears lifting. They thought their heart might burst right out of their chest. 

Stephie huffed quietly, throwing them the ghost of an eye roll. Her hand dropped down Lhoris’ arm to link fingers.

“Well, I can hardly call you Stephie in the middle of your party,” said Lhoris, reasonably. “It’s disrespectful.” Their ears quirked in mischief.

Stephie gave those ears an unimpressed look, then tugged them towards the dance floor. She set a leisurely pace, and the crowd parted in front of them.

“Ahem,” said Lhoris faintly, ears twitching. Stephie gave them an unreadable look. 

The elves in the audience were also looking at them - ears lifted on every side. A particularly cutthroat competitor was scowling heavily; as Lhoris watched, he took a heavy sip from his wine glass. Lhoris swallowed heavily.

Stephie was continuing to politely ignore everyone but them - it was like they were alone in a room full of strangers.

Lhoris’ ears twitched again slightly more strongly. Their mouth was dry. “It’s good to see you,” they ventured. 

Stephie glanced at them incredulously, faintly mocking. Lhoris huffed and stood straighter; their hands spasmed around Stephie’s, but did not let go. “What? It is! Three months away feels longer every time.”

Stephie rolled her eyes again, smiling fondly; she squeezed hands gently back - and also did not let go. The humans surrounding them nodded genially as they passed, but had gradually ceased attempting to interrupt. There was some Kul Tiran culture happening that Lhoris did not entirely understand. 

Lhoris’ swallowed again, mind working quickly. Their free hand lifted, brushing against a pocket - a small box lay there. Their ears set in determined lines. They had promised themself; this time, they would say something. But - and here Lhoris’ ears drooped slightly - tonight was not really the night. Stephie was the sun, and merchants orbited her like the planets. There was little chance of privacy. Lhoris sighed, small and quiet.

Stephie paused and Lhoris drew to a halt with her. A white-clad waiter appeared. Upon a silver tray rested the golden goblet of the Guildmaster with the ceremonial ration of sailor’s rum.

Stephie dipped her head in thanks. Her coat strained over thickly roped muscle as she reached out and took the cup. Around her, merchants clapped as she raised it to her lips, and drank.

Then Stephie turned and offered the goblet to Lhoris.

Lhoris took it mechanically. They could felt their fingers tremble, breath stuttering. It was the work of a moment to master both, before taking a single, careful sip. Instead of rum, whiskey slid down their throat like liquid fire.

Stephie gently took the cup back, and placed it on the tray. They looked at one another for a single instant. Then the music changed, and Stephie swept Lhoris out onto the dance floor, accompanied by the sound of a single violin. Beyond them, Lhoris saw their business rival - red wine was splattered across the floor, and his face was white as he stared at them. 

Lhoris’ mind was racing. Their legs felt weak and unsteady, although natural grace carried them through the steps. When they had first learned it a century ago, the chaconne had been quicker and a touch racy - now it was danced slowly, and close.

“I should tell you something,” whispered Lhoris, when they came together again. Their ears flittered, and Stephie tilted her head. They broke apart again.

Lhoris breathed deeply, stilling their racing heart - they moved into the round, arms outstretched, almost brushing against the other dancers. Then their hands were gently caught. 

Stephie traded them the lead.

“Quel’Thalan courtship,” Lhoris stuttered, ears flickering, leading them into a turn. “I… it kind of looks like… and every elf here thinks…”

They broke apart again. Only a decade of negotiating the sale of large quantities of gold kept the panic from Lhoris’ face. The other dancers were a whirl of colour, unseen. A firm hand caught theirs again, and drew them back in.

Stephie took back the lead, staring down into their face.

“And I know you don’t know how Elvish courtship works,” said Lhoris miserably. “So you should know…”

The hands on their back firmed, pulling Lhoris flush. They gasped. Stephie’s head lowered, almost brushing up against one long ear.

“But I do know how it works,” she said quietly. 

Lhoris shivered - then their ears snapped upright. Stephie drew back, and stopped dancing. All around them, other pairs careened aside to avoid them.

“My darling,” she said, looking fond. Her hand reached into her breast pocket, and pulled free a pen, and a battered notebook; tucked inside the pages was a bookmark. 

Lhoris swallowed heavily. The world felt dreamlike, like the Sun was burning slightly too bright. 

Stephie smiled, and tucked them back into her pocket. 

“I haven’t given you something back,” she said, still quiet. “I’m sorry. But it took a long time to make.”

Lhoris blinked up at her, lost for words. One of their hands dipped into their pocket, and pulled out the box. 

Stephie glanced down at it, and her smile grew fond. She brushed down Lhoris’ arm - a trail of heat seemed to flow from her fingers. “No, no. It really is my turn this time.” She reached into her own jacket, and gently extracted something. It was a torc, wrapped in a plain cloth handkerchief. 

The dance - already upset - crashed to a halt. The violin trailed off with a squeal. Curious faces turned to see what was the matter, then the hum of excited anticipation rose. 

Lhoris was transfixed. Gold blazed out proudly, all heat and gleaming fire. Twisted wire looped in the delicate spirals of the Sun Elves - but the carvings suggested the ocean. 

It was a masterwork. It was the work of a lifetime.

Stephie folded the handkerchief away. She lifted the torc, then faltered, head tilting. Lhoris looked up into brown eyes, which were filled with so much bravery and anxiousness and soft adoration. Their ears swept back in tenderness.

“Yes,” they breathed. 

The smooth touch of gold slid around their neck. Around them, humans clapped politely, but this was ignored. Instead warm arms wrapped around their back, and pulled them close. 

Lhoris pressed their forehead against their beloved as their arms hugged back, still clutching the box. “I love you too,” they breathed.

* * *

**Merchant - Year 20**

The day was scorching, even for Silvermoon. Muscles ached. With relief, Stephie racked her hammer for the day, and hung up her apron.

Habit took her through the steps; gloves off, goggles folded away, hands washed in a basin. One last look at the forge to confirm it was safely out. Then a new addition, especially for the tropical climate - a salt tab, quickly swallowed. Stephie grimaced at the taste.

When first working gold in Qual’Thalas, she had believed the atmosphere was so saturated with heat, it couldn’t possibly absorb any more. She had been wrong.

Stretching out a shoulder blade, she turned to the shop door, pushing it open with one foot.

The mid-afternoon sun bathed the shop, pouring over everything. Lhoris’ torc flared, golden and gleaming. They were chuckling, and one of their fingers was tracing a particular feature of some piece under their hands. A customer was nodding back, looking animated. Both sets of ears were raked forward, occasionally twitching in delight. 

Stephie tiptoed behind the counter, heading for the jug of water. Because Qual’Thalas was the seat of everything Elvish, this had been placed directly in the strongest beam of sunshine. Light and heat brushed across her shoulders as she stooped for it, sending a smith-shaped shadow dancing across the shop floor. 

Two sets of glowing blue eyes darted up - Lhoris’ ears perked, and long fingers drummed quietly along the countertop. The customer looked shocked, his ears jerking. 

“A unique work, Mr Pikecreek,” Lhoris said, drawing his attention back. “You won’t regret your purchase.” 

Stephie drained her glass of warm water, then wandered forward, curious. A golden belt buckle gleamed under the bright shop lights, clean and simple. 

Lhoris turned and smiled at her. “Could you grab me some lambswool, darling?”

Stephie ducked down behind the counter for the jar. When she emerged, Lhoris had the shop’s ledger out, and both Elves were well into trying to out-loop each other with their handwriting - Stephie waited patiently. 

“Master Fitzwilliams,” said the customer finally, turning away from the book. His ears were twittering. “An honour to have a piece from you. An honour.” He took the box. 

Stephie inclined her head politely, acutely aware of her dishevelment - her shirt felt damp with sweat, and wisps of hair tickled her face. Stephie surreptitiously blew a strand away. 

Lhoris smiled fondly. “Two terms as Guildmaster, and still happier at the forge.” They winked at Stephie, then took their customer back in hand. “Is there any other way we can help you today?”

A few minutes more of thanks and Elvish bowing - and a promise to send word of any matching items - the door clicked shut behind another satisfied customer.

Stephie walked forward and sheeted the deadbolt home. She paused, thoughtfully, before snaffling Lhoris’ finely woven sleeve. A gentle tug had the Elf in her arms; Stephie took this opportunity to languidly kiss her spouse. 

Lhoris made a little noise of pleased surprise. Their arms curled up and around her shoulders, all heat passion and sunshine.

“ _You had a productive day then_ ,” they murmured in Kul Tiran, drifting kisses across Stephie’s face and neck. Their arms loosened, just slightly.

Stephie kissing Lhoris’ forehead, and grinned. The answering smile was rueful - but Lhoris’ eyes burned. 

“We’ve still got the Prince’s appointment this evening,” they said. They looked reluctant, and bit their lip slightly. “We can’t…”

Stephie pressed another kiss down, stroking one hand down the sleeve of Lhoris’ arms. The other hand lifted to brush across their collarbones, which framed the torc - Lhoris gasped. They leaned back in. 

“Well,” they said, musingly. “Yes, you make a good point. And you do need a shower. But I’ll probably need a little more convincing to join you.”

Stephie grinned again - stepped back. Then she offered her arm.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Team; if you've made it to the end, you are a superb human being, and also very sexy. 
> 
> Remember _Toil and Strife_ , which was full of explosions? This story was not that. It was taken by request, and workshopped with a second person. It's different, and gave me hives. If you spot a mistake, sing out and let me know.
> 
> Speaking of which, a shoutout to my wife's patience with the questions I asked during this story. (How does one suggest a character is charming? Would this scene be more romantic with arson?) The whole ordeal stands as proof positive that the most wonderful person loves me.


End file.
